


Sand between my teeth

by captainhurricane



Category: Metal Gear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 02:49:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1802587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainhurricane/pseuds/captainhurricane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It'd be nice to hear you beg."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sand between my teeth

**Author's Note:**

> set somewhere before Kaz's rescue.

They’re both coughing by the time the sandstorm passes and they can stop clutching their horses and their hood-covered heads. Ocelot is sighing deeply and shaking sand out of his white hair, the clink of his spurs hidden by the still whistling wind. It’s hot and stuffy and the air smells stale. Ocelot’s horse neighs and pushes closer to him, like looking for comfort. Ocelot shushes him and takes off the hood. Snake gets the last of the wind-shipped sand out of his mouth and spits, wiping his lips with distaste. His forehead throbs and briefly he brushes his right fingers against the shrapnel sticking out of his skull. The scarred skin under the eyepatch itches but he resists.

”Ocelot,” Snake steps closer, his own steed shaking sand out of its mane and looking particularly unmenacing.

”Dammit, that was unpleasant,” Ocelot huffs and smirks then, looking much like he did twenty years ago in a Soviet jungle. Yet the deviousness of him has grown into something much sharper. Snake finds himself drawn to him regardless of distrust.

”So, as I was saying before this shit happened,” Ocelot waves a gloved hand around them, the other one still holding the reins of his horse (who’s now pushing his muzzle against Snake’s stallion), ”you’ve got three days until Miller’s finished. But as it happens, you can’t go running there with guns blazing- which I’m sure you’d be happy to do-”

”Talk about yourself,” Snake interrupts him gruffly and makes Ocelot chuckle as they hop back on their horses and ride out of the shade of the ruined rocks.

”So, we’re going to make a plan for tonight at this place I know.” Snake raises an eyebrow and covers his mouth with his scarf, snapping the goggles back on. Ocelot shrugs, doing the same.

”I know places,” he says, the words muffled but still audible. ”And this place doesn’t ask questions. You really don’t want the Soviets to know you’re here to rescue our resident damsel in distress, do you?” Snake huffs and it could almost be laughter.

”It’s just that I don’t particularly trust your sudden desire for comradeship,” Snake’s words are a far-cry from their first meeting but he always had something off about him, a certain coldness fitting his codename that came through even when Ocelot was a young fool.

”Obviously,” Ocelot says. ”But you should trust me on this. I want Miller safe just as much as I’m sure you do.” Snake goes quiet then, a breeze rustling their clothes, their hair, the manes of the horses. It passes soon and the air becomes still and stifling, even as the morning slithers towards noon. Ocelot tries to open a conversation a couple of times once they can lower the scarves, but Snake raises an eyebrow at him or ignores him completely and even Ocelot quiets down, huffing.

They reach the tiny village in good time, the place safely huddled inside a valley, forgotten by the world and its snakes, but not by the prowling predator Adamska, the one who’s currently waving a hand around like showing the world to his gruff companion.

”Isn’t it something?”

”Certainly,” Snake murmurs after a while of realizing he can’t slip away without an answer. Some irritation bristles under the surface but Ocelot is unfazed and uncaring, walking with his back straight to the biggest building in the city that reveals itself to being some sort of an inn.

”Shalashaska!” Bellows a huge mountain of a man from behind a counter in a clear accent and comes around to grasp Ocelot into a bear hug. Snake pulls down his goggles and raises again an eyebrow at the nickname.

”Long story,” Ocelot murmurs to him after a moment of talking with the moving mountain.

”I’m certain,” Snake huffs and doesn’t remove his cape or loosen his jacket, staying a step behind Ocelot as they follow the big foreigner up the stairs and to a room which holds nothing but a bed, tiny bathroom and two chairs and a tiny nighttable. Ocelot flops down to one of them and loosens his scarf and takes off his gloves.

”You can reach the base where they’re holding Miller in about three hours on horseback from here,” he says, mouth serious yet his eyes are gleaming.

”I see,” says Snake and sits down to the other chair. It creaks a little.

”I’d suggest you infiltrate the base during a night but you probably know best what to do.” Ocelot settles himself down comfortably on his armchair and stretches his long legs in front of him, the damned spurs clinking against each other once like on purpose. The corner of Ocelot’s mouth twitches. Snake has lit a cigar, his only eye cold blue through the haze of smoke.

”You’re a one-man army, boss, they probably wouldn’t be able to do anything to you even if you did go guns blazing,” Ocelot says to break the silence that threatens to settle, the unnerving weight of Snake’s gaze. The room smells dry and stale and Ocelot can feel himself growing hotter.

”No.” Snake gets up from the creaky chair and sits on the bed instead. ”I’ll go in during the night. Perhaps best to keep the casualties to a minimum.”

Now, Ocelot, ever since his first beret-wearing days, hasn’t been a nice man or a good person and is not particularly fazed by cruelty or corpses- even revelling in torture in good days, but the coldness seeping from Snake’s words then drive a shiver through Ocelot’s body.

”Surprised to hear that.” Ocelot licks his lips and turns the armchair so that he can see Snake better. It makes an awful sound on the floor. Snake dumps his cigar to the half-full ashtray on the nighttable after a moment of awful, heavy silence.

”Yet you’re the one aroused when I hold a gun in my hand,” he says, finally taking off the cape and loosening his jacket. Ocelot makes a choked noise.

”Yes, I notice,” this time the half-grin that finds itself stretching the scarred lips is rather terrifying.

”Aaa, well,” Ocelot says and stands up, licking his lips.

”Can’t blame a man for not being able to let go of a schoolboy-crush in twenty years,” he says, softer than he meant to but more sarcastic than needed. Snake stands up as well and steps closer, already snapping open his belt. He’s keeping eyecontact and Ocelot stays rooted to the spot, swallowing. Eyes only once flickering down as Snake pulls his cock out of his trousers.

”Can’t blame a man for having dreams,” Ocelot says, quietly. It’s true that he had been gazing at his travelling companion for a while now- had been thinking of him ever since the Soviet jungle and all that mess with the Boss and Volgin and the Shagohod. When exactly it had grown into this odd, heavy lust Ocelot doesn’t know. Snake’s face remains unreadable, his metal fingers cold as they reach Ocelot’s neck.

”What are you waiting for? Down.” Ocelot’s huff of laughter almost gets him shoved down anyway.

”You forgot to say the magic word,” he says, dropping to his knees with a thump. Snake’s cock is flaccid but Ocelot can feel his own throbbing between his legs.   
”If you mean please, then… I’m not going to start begging you,” Snake sighs from up above. ”But since you can’t stop being distracted by me, then-” the metal hand stays tangled with the white strands, the hips giving a little push. Ocelot hums and spits into his hand, wrapping it around the base.

”It’d be nice to hear you beg,” he says, amusement and desire hiding nine years of desperate waiting, of seeing nothing of the carnage of MSF on the news except through contacts and through EVA’s gentle, worried voice.

”Suck it,” Snake’s voice descends into a growl and Ocelot chuckles, imagining those same fingers clutching his hair harder, as the same cock that’s currently driving through his lips would drive into his ass. Snake smells like the desert sand and tastes like seasalt, nothing like his coldblooded namesake. Ocelot keeps a steady, good rhythm with his hand and takes most of the cock into his mouth to keep a balance, Snake’s hand guiding him deeper. Ocelot closes his eyes and just goes slow, Snake steadily growing harder with the ministrations, the swelling cock stretching Ocelot’s lips. He has to push his free hand into his own trousers to grab his dick even as Snake’s both hands now grab his head and keep in place as Snake’s hips start moving.

Ocelot gags and the cock drops from his mouth a few times, but mostly he’s just glad to get Snake hard.

”You’re really something,” Snake murmurs and stops thrusting for a few moments to let Ocelot catch his breath before resuming. Ocelot hums and then opens his mouth, licks the tip.

”Come on, come into my mouth.” Snake’s breath hitches- a victory on its own- as he swats Ocelot’s hand away and grabs his own digits around his dick to bring his climax to a close. With a grunt he spills on the waiting tongue.


End file.
